The Brink of Despair
by typedamon
Summary: Set after Batman: The Dark Knight Rises. Five years has passed since the Batman disappeared in the midst of an explosion, sacrificing everything for Gotham to survive. However, peace is short-lived as horror begins to stir in the city's dark foundations yet again.
1. Chapter 1

**Full summary: **Five years ago, The Batman disappeared in the midst of an explosion to save Gotham City from certain destruction. After five years of almost unsettling serenity, horrors begin to stir within Gotham's foundations again. Can the protectors of the city stop Gotham from tipping over the brink of despair?

The Brink of Despair

Chapter One  
That Day, Five Years Ago

Alfred sat at the grave side, a fold out chair and table perched neatly beside the sturdy trunk of a large oak tree. Heavy branches span out thick and long, casting a welcome shadow over his dwelling place of the day. _Five years today, _he thought, a small smile crossing his face as he tiled his glass of bourbon towards the most recent of the three graves.

"To you good health, Mr Wayne," he toasts, chuckling as he sips from the glass. Had any of the children chosen that moment to take a stroll down the path leading to the private cemetery, they would have found the sight terribly strange. Alfred suppresses another snort of laughter. The little ones would ask questions, the older ones merely throwing him curious and somewhat suspicious stares as they pass by.

It is no secret that whilst the boys undoubtedly give Alfred their utmost respect, the rumours that he is going senile spread throughout the orphanage like wildfire. _Let them think it, _Alfred cheerily tips a little more of the amber liquid down his throat. _They will learn about the validity of rumours and how to separate the truth from speculation in due time. _Alfred's appreciation of the gullibility and the naivety of youth had existed long before Wayne Manor's halls had begun to fill up with orphaned boys, later switching to house females that were also without parents too. No, Alfred's adoration and fascination with youth had stirred within him the first time he had held a wriggling pink baby boy in his arms as it cried out for it's mother. Even after giving birth to little Bruce Wayne, Mrs Wayne had continued to put her efforts forward into making Gotham a better place. She divided her time equally, devoting herself to two causes: family, and bettering the city that she loved so much.

It just so happened that after the first time Alfred took care of Bruce Wayne, catering to the baby's needs became just another one of his jobs which he gladly accepted. Never having had a chance to have a child of his own before his wife's tragic and untimely death, Alfred could hardly express his delight at being able to help the Wayne's with the newest member of their family. He cared for the boy in the only way he knew how – with parental love, and gentle guidance. After the horrific deaths of the Wayne parents, Alfred had willingly stepped up to the challenge of becoming a surrogate father to Bruce. Whilst he knew that he would never be able to fill the chasm of loss in the orphan's heart, he only hoped that he could begin to soothe the pain and heartbreak that existed within the young boy.

Alfred had had no greater pleasure in his life than watching Bruce Wayne grow up, fuelled with his parent's soul and fire; that passion to turn Gotham into something greater than a hubbub for organised crime. It was that grim determination which had transformed Bruce Wayne into The Batman, that caped crusader who had prowled Gotham's streets, clearing away the criminals, one set of handcuffs at a time. Of course, there had been drawbacks. Alfred hadn't enjoyed watching Bruce stiffly drag himself from his bed, removing his shirt to reveal a colourful array of bruises varying from different shades of deep blues, murky greens and shadowy purples. The swellings that built up around his joints becoming more prominent with each day… but still, Bruce Wayne had kept going. He had always fought for what he believed in, until Gotham's favourite vigilante took the fall for a crime he did not commit. Those had been the days that had affected Alfred the most. Watching him become crippled, both physically and mentally was something that the old butler knew would never truly leave him. But again – Bruce discovered his willpower and struck up the courage to fight again.

Another feeling Alfred knew he'd never be able to forget was one of excruciating emotional agony. He had felt his heart split in two when Commissioner Jim Gordon reached out to him with the news that Batman sacrificed his own life for the sake of Gotham's future. Despondent and broken by what he considered to be a personal failure, Alfred had travelled to the only place he could think of to nurse his woes. There, he had been blessed with witnessing one of his biggest dreams uncurl before his very eyes. Alfred smiled wistfully as he relived the way he had dropped tiredly into his seat, looking up to catch the eye of a handsome man with sharply defined cheek bones and a well sculpted chin sitting opposite a stunning brunette woman. Subtly, the two males had acknowledged each other – the locking of equally warm, equally watery eyes, lips tugging at the corners in slight smiles as the smallest of nods were made. Bruce Wayne's nod had spoken volumes; more than any words in the dictionary could begin to explain.

Alfred Penningworth had got contentedly to his feet, and left the restaurant without even ordering. He had not heard from Bruce Wayne in five years. Everything was perfect.

/\/\/\/\

Swinging around ferociously, John Blake's fist crunched heavily into the brick and mortar pile. A puff of grit and dust showered the dark floor, only to be washed away in the fast flowing jet of water practically instantly. A slick sheen of sweat began to coat Blake's body, only thickening as the intensity of his workout increased. Realisation of what day it was had tripped something inside him, and the desire to work even more vigorously spurred him to push himself further. Grunts of effort were ripped from his throat as he threw punch after punch at the brickwork, a series of powerful kicks demolishing the stack. To finish, Blake dropped into press-ups, the sweat dripping from his forehead into the wet puddles that glistened on the ground.

Panting, Blake finally rose to a stand, his chest rising and falling slowly as he began to stretch out his limbs, cooling the exerted muscles. Too tired to become worked up about what day it was, Blake finally was able to fully acknowledge it. Five years ago, Batman had given up everything in order to save Gotham. The masked vigilante had sped away from the city that he loved, a bomb attached to the bottom of his scarily technologically advanced aircraft, only to disappear amidst an explosion, never to be seen again.

Blake happened to be one of four people in the world, who knew the real identity of the man behind the black mask. Blake also happened to have inherited that underground cave, home to a pack of fluttering bats and a high-tech suit that had mysteriously fitted him perfectly. After thoroughly exploring the cave and finding no explanation from Bruce, Blake settled to trust his own instincts. Bruce had left the cave to him for a reason… almost as if he were requesting that Blake took up the new battle-suit and mask to become Gotham's new unorthodox guardian.

Grudgingly, Blake had accepted the position. Hesitantly, he had begun to continue the work of Bruce Wayne, the work of the Batman. Except this time, it was 'Nightwing' that prowled the streets of Gotham at night, removing thugs and criminals from the city, one pair of handcuffs at a time. Nightwing was not considered a vigilante that should be caught and thrown into jail, but instead was welcomed by the citizens of Gotham with open arms. Still, Blake's initial apprehension at stepping into the shoes of the famous Batman, Gotham's Dark Knight, had never truly subsided.

Not only was it an enormous role to fulfil, it was a frightening one. Gotham would only to continue to accept Nightwing as long as he remained successful. The minute there was a turn of events, they would be all too eager to abandon him, or give him up. The only way for people to truly keep faith, was to have something to blame their problems on, whether it be the police force, or Nightwing.

"Working hard are we, John?" The thick and friendly English accent that Blake had become so familiar with echoed through the cave, momentarily drowning out the noisy roar of the waterfall. Turning, Blake shot Alfred Penningworth a warm smile. "The day is nearly out, my friend. I was hoping you would join me at Master Wayne's graveside to honour his memory." As always, the old butler spoke courteously and politely when addressing Bruce, although the man himself was no longer around to hear it. Whether it was a die hard habit, or a continuous direct testament to the man Alfred had been faithfully serving all his life, Blake didn't know.

As they emerged from the bat cave, Blake squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the warm summer's evening. Never had a summer in Gotham been so peaceful as the one they had been presented with. Of course, there were the usual petty crimes and low-life thugs crawling about, but there had been nothing large in the grand scheme of Gotham crime. Blake turned his face to the sun, pausing to admire the serenity of the orange glow that bathed the earth in a soothing tone. In that moment, standing next to Alfred, Blake knew the epitome of peace. In fact, he was sure that all Gotham did. _This is what Bruce would have wanted, _Blake thought, smiling gently. _A time where the people of Gotham could just stand and look at the sky. Where they could appreciate things, and feel safe. _

"Will Jim be joining us?" Blake asked as he fell in step beside Alfred, slowing his gait to accommodate for the old man's stride.

"No sir, I don't think so," Albert's brow furrowed. He gave Blake a steady, side long glance. "He got summoned to Arkham Asylum this morning and he said around lunch time that he thinks he'll be there all day."

Frowning, Blake turned to Alfred. "Arkham? Why's he up there?"

/\/\/\/\

His body coursing with agitation, Jim Gordon paced the length of the corridor and back again. The summons of Doctor Arkham had began from the crack of dawn, and been relentlessly plaguing Gordon until he had arrived at the Asylum at ten that very morning. However, eight hours later, Jim was still none-the-wiser as to why he had been carted to the huge institute. Irritated, he had been snapping all day at people. There was something else he would much rather be doing at that present moment in time – honouring Bruce Wayne with only two other people he could do it with.

"Commissioner Gordon?" Hesitantly, one of the bulky orderlies appeared from behind a heavy metal door. Despite his hunkering size, his face was tight with worry. Sweat had gathered at his brow, and his skin had taken a pale colour. "I was told to tell you that he's ready for you now."

Frowning at the nervous guard, Jim moved closer. "Who?"

"The Joker."

* * *

A/N: Here I present you with my first Batman Dark Knight trilogy fic, I hope it's not too bad haha.

Just to clear things up I would like to make it known that, yes, I am aware that Robin and Nightwing are not the same person, however since in the films Blake had dropped his first name throughout, it was fitting that he would have assumed a different title. Also, I hate the name Robin with a burning passion (no offence if that's your name, I'm sure you're still lovely!) lol so if I can avoid using it then I will!

Thanks for reading, review if you like and I'm sure I can give you more!


	2. Chapter 2

**Full summary: **Five years ago, The Batman disappeared in the midst of an explosion to save Gotham City from certain destruction. After five years of almost unsettling serenity, horrors begin to stir within Gotham's foundations again. Can the protectors of the city stop Gotham from tipping over the brink of despair?

The Brink of Despair

Chapter Two  
Dr Quinzel

"More diamonds?" Bruce Wayne gave the beautiful brunette woman an exaggerated eye roll as she visibly struggled to tear herself away from the glittering chunks of rock in the jewellers window.

On making eye contact with Bruce, she half-shrugged, not looking the slightest bit shame-faced. "What? Old habits die hard." Selina Kyle had been a calculating cat burglar with a keen eye for all that was expensive and precious. Skilful in combat as well as thievery, she had been a successful criminal - whilst evidence left at crime scenes did occasionally lead back to her, there was never anything left that would directly incriminate her. Despite the fact she had a brilliant criminal mind, the first thing Bruce had noticed about her was that she was different from the usual Gotham thugs. There wasn't the stone flat insanity in her eyes, a deadness that was only revived into something of greed or excitement when the prospect of hurting someone came forward. No, there had been a softness about her, an edge of light beneath her tough outer exterior. She had that glint of hope in her - the promise that she would be able to do the right thing, if the right thing was revealed.

He had appealed directly to that side of her, trying to get the sympathetic and gentle woman to break the surface of her selfishness. Bruce hadn't been disappointed. Selina had remained faithfully at his side even when it seemed Gotham's destruction would be inevitable. After saving the city, they had left together, making the travel to Europe comfortably in each others company. Of course, they still had their clashes and differing opinions that made for interesting heated debates, but neither could deny that something was unravelling between them.

After relying on each other, they had indefinitely become closer than Bruce had ever envisaged to be possible. They had spent long nights just talking, exchanging stories and tales of their lives, sometimes laughing, sometimes mourning for the ones they had lost along the way. In time, they had learnt to read each other. Communication between them was easy; a matter of glances and looks could speak for an entire conversation.

"Whatever," Bruce answered shaking his head but feeling his face break into a smile nonetheless. They fell in step again, strolling slowly through the scenic streets of the pretty town. Absently, he caught Selina's hand, lacing his fingers through hers as they made their way through the quiet streets. As always, Bruce couldn't help but find himself comparing the tranquillity of their location to the dangerous back streets of Gotham City. There, in the harmonious town, Gotham could have been a place in a different world, a fictionalised place made-up by an author to give their readers some thrilling kicks. Any news of Gotham hadn't crossed his path for five years. Not for the first time, Bruce tried to figure out if he should be frustrated or relieved.

"No news is good news." Selina squeezed his hand, hauling him out of his thoughts. "Now stop thinking about Gotham." Guiltily, Bruce let out a heavy exhale. He didn't know what it was that betrayed him when he began casting his mind to his birthplace, but Selina never missed a beat. She was always quick to haul him back to the present day, keep him focused on the reality of what his life had become.

"And you're a fine one to talk," Selina spurted out, pulling him to a halt and poking a finger accusingly into his chest. "Chiding me for staring at diamonds and my old habits, yet here you are stressing yourself out about Gotham... _again._ I think I'm doing a far better job than you when it comes to moving on."

Again, Bruce sighed. There was no way that he could argue with her on that point. Defeated, he let her lead him all the way back to the quaint little apartment they shared. Dumping his blazer on the back of a chair the minute he got through the door, Bruce then went straight to the small balcony. The view was something glorious, the kind of thing that people swooned over in magazines. Of course, growing up with wealth meant that he had been accustomed to seeing things that were almost surreal when it came down to their magnitude of brilliance, yet somehow, there was something in particular about the view of the sparkling blue ocean under the glow of the warm sun that still managed to take his breath away. Perhaps it was all that the ocean encompassed and addressed: the fact that after years of being tied to a city that brought only painful memories, he was free. The fact that he was in the most peaceful, delightful place the world had to offer with a beautiful woman at his arm who actually appreciated him for who he was, and not the money behind his name. Or perhaps... it was the promise it gave. The horizon stretching eternally outwards, serving as a constant reminder that the world always has something more to offer. Something more than what lay behind him.

"You ok?" Selina's voice sounded behind him, closer than he had anticipated. Forcing himself not to startle out of habit, Bruce just shuffled a little to the left, gesturing for her to join him at the edge of the balcony. She obliged, leaning heavily on the railings as she observed the view. "Still amazing to look at, huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is." Bruce agreed quietly, but he found he wasn't looking at the ocean any longer. Instead, his vision was taken up by the woman in front of him. Brunette, with a tiny waist and slender arms, a female he would have easily mistook as being frail and vulnerable had he not known the power and dexterity she possessed. She was the kind of woman that people stopped to take a second look at, admiring from afar. He was proud to show her off, to have her at his side, knowing she was there for no other reason than because she wanted to be. He had given the opportunity to go their separate ways years ago... the moment they had found each other after leaving Gotham he had presented her with the idea, earning nothing but a sour look followed by a sharp kick to the ribs.

It seemed that they were stuck like glue... and he was perfectly ok with that.

/\/\/\/\

"The _Joker?_" Jim Gordon spluttered, his heart freezing his chest. It was a name he hadn't heard in years, and one that he would have been content with never hearing again in his life. Instantly, he was thrown back thirteen years to a period of chaos and turmoil he had hoped he would never be forced to revisit. Flashes of the man appeared in his eyes, flaking white paint, cracked and hideous caked onto his skin, a mouth that was always curved up at the corners, lined in red that Jim had never been sure whether it was dried blood or more of the face paint that the criminal had so favoured. He had been tall, broad shouldered, sporting a purple suit, torn up and filthy. His unwashed green hair had hung ragged and limp, greased back from his face. He had been something from a horror film, something that shouldn't have existed in real life.

"The Joker." The guard confirmed, before gesturing for Jim to follow him. Mentally reeling, Jim followed the heavy set man through the enormous metal door and down a corridor. The yellow lighting glared off of the shiny white painted floor and walls, causing Jim to squint uncomfortably. The asylum was utterly silent, the only sound the noise of their shoes clacking noisily against the floor. As if he could read Jim's mind, the guard turned his head, whispering to Jim in a low voice. "This is where we keep the high security patients. Everything is so quiet so that we can hear if someone isn't where they should be."

Of course, the Joker would be held under the highest security. A psychopathic, masochistic, sadistic killer, he was untrustworthy no matter where he was. After walking for several minutes, they pulled up outside another thick door. Together, they stepped through it into a small, square shaped dimly lit room, one wall made up of dark glass. It was empty, aside from the two people standing there, both with serious expressions on their faces. Instantly, Jim recognised Dr Arkham. He was standing with his hands clasped tightly in front of him, deep lines of worry pressed into the skin of his face, dark shadowy rings beneath his grey eyes. Beside him was a young woman, slender and pale with ash blonde hair. Golden highlights were visible when her hair caught the lamp light.

"Commissioner Gordon," Arkham nodded respectfully before briefly shaking hands and retreating back to his initial place. "I understand this must be extremely confusing for you, but this is the first time he has been willing to co-operate."

"But why now? Why after thirteen years has he finally decided to start talking?" Frustration mounting inside him, Jim balled his hands into tight fists. It seemed that in The Joker's world, nothing had changed in the last thirteen years. He was still controlling everything, controlling everyone. Once again, the people around him were forced to submit to his terms - he wasn't talking because they had made a breakthrough. He was talking because for whatever sick reason he had made up in his head, now was the right time for it.

"That's what I hope to find out." Smoothly, the young woman stepped forward, her hand outstretched. "Dr Harleen Frances Quinzel. I've been assigned to treat The Joker."

Although Jim had learnt a long time ago not to judge a book by it's cover, he couldn't help but feel slightly alarmed by the notion that such a young looking, petite _girl _would be in charge of overseeing The Joker's progress as opposed to someone like Arkham himself who was a veteran in the practice. Not wanting to voice his doubts out loud, Jim cast an appealing look in Arkham's direction. The old doctor cleared his throat almost awkwardly before speaking. "The Joker has been subject to treatment for five years... in all that time, he wouldn't say anything. Not a single damn word. We thought that perhaps he had simply grown weary and impervious to conventional treatment... and Harleen here is an expert when it comes to alternative therapies and treatment. I think her new methods might just be enough to get something out of him."

Nodding slowly, Jim was aware of the truth in Dr Arkham's words, however it didn't stop him feeling dubious. "So what do we know about the situation?"

Instantly, the atmosphere of the room became tense. The temperature felt as if it had been increased by several notches, the space between each of them electrically charged. Jim felt like if he even began to breathe, the tiny movement of the rise and fall of his chest would cause him to be electrocuted. As the duration of the silence stretched uncomfortably on, it was Harleen Frances Quinzel that took charge of the situation. "I began my first treatment session with him this morning. He didn't really offer much and then randomly snapped into a heightened state of excitement where he began to request for you to be present. Now, he's stated he will happily speak, talk and accept treatment after having this conversation with you."

"And you believe him?"

"Actually... yes, I do." Harleen stared at Jim with a level, measured gaze. There was something so controlled about her, as if she was always a step ahead, everything thought out and rationalised within the walls of her brain. For some reason, the way her brain power and intelligence was so readily displayed for all made him ill at ease. Not enough for him to outwardly express his discomfort, but enough for it to stir some form of concern in his brain. For whatever reason it was, Jim felt compelled to remind himself to remember the emotion. "So, you're gonna need to get in there."

On cue, almost as if it had been rehearsed, Arkham punched his hand onto a switch. The darkness of glass wall drained away, revealing a bare interviewing room. The way it was set up was almost as if it had been ripped straight out of a police station and glued into the walls of Arkham. The bleak design wasn't one that Jim himself would have chosen for an inpatient that was more or less insane. The blankness offered no hope, no promise of safety or better health. Nothing. It was just... nothing.

But it wasn't the drabness that was chilling Jim Gordon to the bone. It was the man that was sat behind the desk, his lips curved up in that hideous permanent smile, a ridged mess of scar tissue and stitches that had never quiet dissolved emphasising the horror of the deep scars that dragged his lips upwards at the corners of his mouth. Before, Jim had never seen the man without the terrifying thick clown paint pasted to his skin, cracked and chipped, flaking off in places. Without it, The Joker looked strangely bare, and oddly, even more grotesque. Perhaps it was because the scars were fully visible in plain view. Maybe it was just shocking to find out that underneath the thick layers of white, red and black, he was in fact still a human.

Forcing back a shudder, Jim Gordon prepared himself for the worst.

* * *

A/N: Apologies for a fairly boring 'filler' chapter... trying to give you a sense of character here.  
Also, we have seen The Joker dun dun dun! If you read and like, let me know, likewise, if you read and don't like, also let me know! Any criticism is accepted as long as you aren't rude!

Thank you!


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